Of Moby Dick and the Tigers of Africa

In Chapter XLV of "Moby Dick," Ishmael gives several examples to support his belief that certain whales – legends and giants among their own kind – can be both encountered and receive the harpoon of the same gallant knight twice or more, years apart. (I just read "Moby Dick" for the second time and greatly enjoyed it because it was not required, as it was in college.) In this chapter entitled "The Affidavit," Ishmael tells of a harpooner who, after once striking home on a leviathan that escaped, encountered it again years later. In the interim, said seaman joined a discovery party into the interior of Africa, "where he travelled for a period of nearly two years, often endangered by serpents, savages, tigers, poisonous miasmas, with all the other common perils incident to wandering in the heart of unknown regions." I had to look up "miasmas." Turns out it's a very interesting term meaning "bad air," thought to cause serious diseases like cholera, until it was displaced in the 19th century by the discovery of germs. But it was the tigers that grabbed my interest. Travel back in time with me to college Creative Writing with Professor McIntosh. The assignment: write a short story in character. I could not wait for my turn to read in class. I had chosen to be a British great white hunter seeking his prey in darkest Victorian Africa. I based my voice on some old movies and I was getting a few snickers but good attention as I moved along. My closer was a slight twist on my favorite Groucho Marx joke. I whispered how I, the hunter, was in my tent, when I was awakened by a fierce sound outside in the vast darkness. I grabbed my trusty rifle, leapt to my feet, charged outside, and — BOOM! — dropped the largest tiger I had ever seen. "Yes, I shot a tiger in my pajamas, dear friends — and what he was doing in my pajamas I'll never know!" Guffaws all 'round! Everybody got it. I was in creative writing heaven … until … "There are no tigers in Africa," the until then silent McIntosh stated as he covered my glory in solid ice, bringing the room to complete silence. "Class, write what you know." "I know I'll never take another class with McIntosh," I thought, slumping in my seat. Then, in a story that I hope would make even ol' Mr. Melville smile, there is this memory from the study of his tome in American Novel class. One day, Dr. Gilgun came upon a passage which he convinced us was a measurement that would allow us to get a better idea of how big Moby Dick really was. In the classroom, he said that measurement was about that of a foot, 12 inches, and said the great white whale was about 300 times one of these measurements, which would compute to about 100 yards. This alone would make Moby Dick as long as a football field – more than three times longer than the standard spermaceti whale, which ranges from 52 to 67 feet in length – but who were we to challenge a PhD?! Then came "show and tell." Gilgun took the entire class out into the hall of the classroom building, went to one end, and started stepping off these 300 "measurements" in giant strides, counting "one … two … three …," with all those steps far longer than 12 inches. When he reached the other end of the building, a length of about 100 yards or so, he was no where near his desired count of 300. "There," he exclaimed, somewhat out of breath but most professorially. "Moby Dick was BIGGER than this building!" Oh, it happened. I was there. And just like the icy summation of McIntosh, we took the conclusion in complete silence … which I suppose is the sound made by the African tiger.